


Phantom Manor

by estike



Category: All for One - Takarazuka Revue
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, disneyland au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 21:02:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13419582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estike/pseuds/estike
Summary: There is probably nothing that Bernardo hates more than d'Artagnan - and there is probably nobody Bernardo loves more than his uncle. However, Mazarin is not the best uncle for no reason, and as always, he has another perfect plan to mend the heart of his "cold-hearted, inhuman" nephew.Namely, Disneyland.





	Phantom Manor

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lisa's birthday, but I thought some others who stumble upon my account might enjoy it as well, even though it was originally tailored for an audience of one.

Two things.

 

 **One** : d’Artagnan sucks.

 **Two** : Mazarin is the best uncle ever.

 

This d’Artagnan otherwise has the first name Charles, but nobody calls him that way – possibly because he is too annoying to be called at all. People probably normally wish he just didn’t exist, and refrain from referring to him at all. Bernardo knows a thing about him, or two. He mostly knows these things because d’Artagnan is very loud, hard to avoid, and he is Louis’s new bodyguard. Despite being the best uncle, Mazarin picked him up somewhere (by the looks of him, some stinky alleyway, where he was sleeping).

For one, Bernardo is at loss as to why Louis would need anyone – apart from him – to take care of her. It is true that nowadays she spends her evenings and nights sneaking out and associating herself with the strangest people he could imagine, which is not to her mother’s liking, and more importantly, does not help her image. As the young, celebrated, pure principal of her ballet company. Well... one cannot really say that d’Artagnan helps her image a lot either.

He is always there, he wears denim enough for ten people in one go, and he loves talking loudly, even when nobody asked him. As an avid wearer of hats, he is in direct rivalry with Bernardo now, who is the hat person in the family. Not that d’Artagnan is part of the family.

On top of that, he never gets anyone’s name right. Even though Louis is clearly, plainly “Louis” in the register, one can be sure that d’Artagnan will call her “Louise” like some sloppy idiot. How can you take care of someone if you do not even know their name? It took days for Bernardo to realize that “Bernard” referred to him. When he did find out, he threw the contents of an ashtray in the man’s face from the coffee table, and left without any further explanation. (Even since then, d’Artagnan still simply calls him “Bernard,” to his face, and behind his back, as well.)

Apart from Bernardo – and a select few of his siblings, who have some common-sense – nobody appears to see the stinky truth about d’Artagnan. The fact that he undeniably and thoroughly sucks. When in Paris, Bernardo and his siblings are hosted at his uncle’s mansion, which is right opposite Louis’s home. More often than not, Bernardo finds himself peeking out of his bedroom window, slightly prying the blinds apart with his fingers, expecting some d’Artagnan sighting.

Louis’s house has more windows than walls in her living room, and sometimes, when Bernardo would be too careless, d’Artagnan looks his way and perhaps catches a glimpse of his figure as he quickly crouches down, fleeing back to safety. He cannot hear any words, of course, but he can see enough. D’Artagnan seems to be on good terms with Anne, and he often sits on the arm of the sofa, making a stupid face at the woman as they have a chat that registers as pleasant to the outside world. He definitely spends more time at that house than he is supposed to.

The last time he ended up visiting, d’Artagnan was playing some stupid board game with Anne and Madeleine (this is Louis’s live-in nanny from the time when she was an infant. She somehow ended up staying in the house even if Louis turned twenty this year. Some people say she does not even have her own bedroom in the mansion…), while he was waiting for Louis to get ready.

“Bernard! I didn’t hear you get in the house.” He has his own keys. Well. Mazarin has. “Do you want to join us? Anne and Madeleine are beating me in Scrabble.”

“Well, maybe you should not play Scrabble if your vocabulary consists of ten words tops.” He turns to Anne, instead. “Anne, my uncle sends this to Louis.”

And with that, we get to the second, much more important point. His uncle is the best ever. Not just best uncle, but best everything, in general. He used to be a close friend to Louis’s parents, and advanced into the girl’s agent, once they discovered her special talent in dancing. Bernardo spent every summer in France at his uncle, so his acquaintanceship with Louis goes back to the sandbox (and before she turned out to be a child prodigy, even). Louis was protected all her life, even before that. Mostly, because her father used to be very famous, and paranoid, too.

(If you google him – which you should not do, at least not if you two are related, or had a good relationship –, you can find an array of rumours, theories, the weirdest accusations, some of them that overgrew the status of a simple jest. The “Louis’s lost twin brother” theory is by far the most detailed and the most frightening, Bernardo once went down that rabbit hole, and understood why Anne and Mazarin are so keen to protect Louis from the outside world. Then again, some people believe, as you do, that her father did not die, and he is hiding somewhere in Canada, having started a new life, or – even more likely – he is working at an egg farm on a remote Japanese island.)

Louis should be so grateful to have such a caring, amazing agent.

Bernardo thinks he is bringing over a boring contract again, or something, just because his uncle was too lazy to walk across the street. And it’s fine. He is more than happy to deliver letters in his uncle’s name. Even if he needs to encounter a stinky Gascon or two along the way.

Louis raced down the stairs, jumping at the last few steps, so she would land with a loud bang.

“Mazarin has something for me?”

“Here.”

She opens the envelope. At first, she looks bored – her expectations being similar to Bernardo’s – then, her eyes start sparkling, like the morning dew.

“Disney!” she exclaims.

Everyone stares at her.

“What.”

“Disney!”

She turns the envelope upside down as she reads the letter coming with it, so myriads of pre-printed tickets fall on the ground. Bernardo kneels down to pick them up for her from the fluffy, white rug under her feet, and d’Artagnan joins in.

“Mazarin is taking me to Disneyland Paris for my birthday this year!” She points at Bernardo. “You guys are coming, too, the letter says. And d’Artagnan.”

“D’Artagnan! Why on earth d’Artagnan?”

D’Artagnan also seems confused, when Bernardo looks him in the hooked nose, but undeniably happy, too.

“He’s my bodyguard. It is nice of your uncle to pay for his ticket, too.”

“He paid for _his_ ticket!?” Why is his uncle so desperate to make d’Artagnan come!

Louis giggles instead of answering, then suddenly assumes a serious, regal air.

“He also says, since it is my birthday, I can make you wear anything from the Disney shop, if I wanted to. Mouse ears for example.”

Bernardo frowns and stands up, giving the tickets back to the girl. He tries to seize the letter – as if that would make his uncle’s promise invalid.

“ _No_.”

“Okay, it really doesn’t say that,” Louis admits, crumpling the paper up as she tries to prevent the boy from taking it. “But would you not wear mouse ears, if I asked you to?”

“It would look lovely,” d’Artagnan agrees, even though literally nobody asked him. He also stands, handing the rest of the tickets back.

“You know what would look lovely?” A second of silence. “If you shut your Gascon mouth for a change, when nobody asked you. How come that any time we meet, I lose an hour of my life, because you ache to talk about yourself so bad?”

Even more silence.

“… how do you know where I’m from?”

Awkward. God. _Awkward_! Bernardo coughs a few times, choking on his ill-chosen words.

“You probably said it yourself already… And if not, I looked you up,” he finally explains. “I look up everyone who has anything to do with Louis. I won’t let just anyone taking care of her.”

“And… do you approve?”                                                  

Louis, Anne, and Madeleine also look at him curiously. Madeleine prompts the answer with small nods.

“No.”

“Tell your uncle thanks,” Louis quickly says, before the two of them would jump on each other, or anything. Then, she tugs at d’Artagnan’s sleeve. “And, I am ready, so we should leave.”

D’Artagnan stares at the half-empty scrabble board. (He just put “sac” for a pathetic five points before.)

“Bernard, if you feel like it, you can finish the game for me. It looks like you know at least twelve words, after all.”

Bernardo glares at him but says nothing: he knows at least three hundred, just to describe d’Artagnan with. Even though only one would do, if he was short on time. In the end, he actually ends up finishing d’Artagnan’s game for him, then asks Anne to take a picture of the scores, to prove a point.

The top of the picture looks like this, written with barbed letters:

 

**BERNARDO!!**

 

Then, slightly below that, another name, with fat, friendly-looking cursive, destined to be erased almost completely.

 

~~d’Artagnan~~

 

***

 

In the two weeks until the Disneyland trip, his uncle sends him to Louis’s house with the stupidest requests. Bernardo does everything, of course, but when it comes to “bring these cupcakes over Olympe and Hortense made, and make sure to give some to that d’Artagnan, too,” he almost runs out of patience.

He even helped putting the icing on those cupcakes! That is what boredom does to you. And, Olympe had black food colouring, which helped, too. He thought it would go as far as to Mazarin telling him to simply take d’Artagnan out on a walk next, but thankfully they ran out of time, and soon enough they were sitting in a cab, driving to Disneyland.

“Bernardo, go with Louis. Your siblings and I will follow in another car.”

“With Louis? Why do _I_ have to go with them?”                                                         

“Just go already!” Marie Louise yells at him, so he goes.

Louis says she does not fancy “dying” if they were to have an unexpected accident, so she refuses to sit in the middle.

“D’Artagnan should die, then,” Bernardo decides and shoves him inside the car, before he can even try to protest.

He spends the journey in silence, making a sour face at d’Artagnan, while the man is having a pleasant conversation with the cab driver. (He only does this part time – he has an amateur group of actors he puts on a show with every now and then. His young foster son is part of the circle, too, apparently, he has quite a talent for it, too, so he always gets the lead roles. Perhaps that is only fatherly pride speaking, though, Bernardo thinks bitterly.)

They meet again with his family at the parking lot, and it takes some coordination to find one another again. Just when he finally picks out Hortense waving at them enthusiastically, with both her hands high up in the air, there is a voice coming from behind them.

“And you guys?! It’s fancy seeing you there. What are you doing!?”

He does not even turn his head, only looks from the corner of his eyes. Louis’s neck disappears between her shoulders, and perhaps her intention is to simply submerge below the asphalt.

“Oh no,” she whimpers.

“I think you guys forgot to invite me! It’s okay. I got my own ticket, you know. You can pay me back later.”

It is Montpensier, Louis’s cousin, of course, giving three kisses to Louis’s cheeks, then moving forward to squeeze Bernardo between her arms. Then, she stops in front of d’Artagnan, measuring him.

“My. This one is a fine man.”

She doesn’t do anything to him – surprisingly – and while Louis tries to brush every trace of the woman off of herself, she dashes forward the rest of the Mancinis.

“Let’s go!” Bernardo can hear her voice, piercing through the air. “I can’t wait to meet all the hot Princes!”

“Oh my _god_! Who invited her…” Louis takes a deep breath, and pretends she is not about to break down crying.

“She invited herself, it seems.”

“I got us snacks!” Montpensier yelled back, and ripped out a selection of food from her massive shoulder bag, so it would rain candies and crisps on the Mazarinettes.

Louis exchanged a tired look with Bernardo, then decided to go ahead and enter the park without waiting for the rest. Everyone else followed suit, dashing after the girl at the same time.

“The first two who gets inside gets the fast passes!” Philippe yelled, as he tried to run past Louis.

As if! Bernardo thought. Louis might be the ballerina here, but he is a lot more agile than anyone in the group. At least he wants to think so. He glances at d’Artagnan next to him, wondering what he is thinking, then makes a run for it. It would not be quite feasible to run past Louis and the other sisters who were already so far ahead, and yet, when he comes to himself, he is out of breath, leaning on his knees. D’Artagnan is right next to him, similarly in disarray, but he is also grinning.

“That’s the fast passes for us,” he declares, as he is grasping for breath.

“Then I don’t want them.”

“Now come on, Bernard,” the man scolds him, “you always act so stern towards me.”

“Well, you are Louis’s lousy bodyguard, so I have no business being kind to you.”

In the meanwhile, the rest catch up with them as well (they probably started walking when they realized they would not win) and Mazarin hands over the fast passes to them with a proud smile on his face. Bernardo assumes he is happy that at least one of his nephews proved himself in the race.

“You two can… break off, if you like,” his uncle suggests, with a sizable pause at the beginning.

Bernardo looks at d’Artagnan, then back at Mazarin. His cheeks puff up.

“No! No, that’s not happening.”

They decide to stay together with the group, mostly due to Bernardo’s stubbornness. D’Artagnan would be ready to go any time.

“I love these rides!” he claims, “I can’t wait to go to the fastest rollercoaster they have.”

“Oh, I want to go too!” Montpensier hugs Louis from behind, placing her chin on the girl’s shoulder. “It would be so romantic! … Except I always throw up.”

Marie Louise shoves both of them away and starts walking to the inside of the park. When nobody follows her, she turns her head a little, staring at them above her shoulder. Her voice is threateningly high.

“What? I don’t have all day. Come on! I want to go to the Mad Tea Party ride. Also, uncle… can we get candyfloss first?”

This is how Bernardo ends up with a soft pink cloud of candyfloss – bigger than his head – as he tries to navigate towards the ride Marie Louise demanded to get on. D’Artagnan did not get one, because, as Mazarin put it “they can share.” Bernardo does not take it seriously, but apparently the other does, since he walks next to the boy, stealing massive chunks of his food.

“Do you ever just want to plant your face in it and bite?” he asks out of the blue.

Bernardo gives him a judgemental look.

“If you try anything of the sort, you won’t have a face to do it with next time.” His voice is dripping from murderous intent.

“Will you give me the whole thing, if I bite into it?” d’Artagnan pries, planting his face in the sticky pink floss.

“No.”

It is too late then, as d’Artagnan already took a bite, leaving dark pink marks wherever he tasted the thing. To establish his dominance, Bernardo rips some candyfloss for himself from the exact same spot, and stuffs it in his mouth, keeping eye contact the whole time.

“No,” he says, with his mouth full.                                    

For a moment, d’Artagnan seems terrified. Then, it ends up in laughter. They finish the sweets by the time they get to the ride, and race each other to sit with Louis – who seems to be really desperate to get rid of Montpensier, and her constant pestering. She seems contented, sitting between the two of them, until the last minute, when she abruptly jumps up.

“I left my phone outside!” she exclaims. “I’ll be back!”

Then, she disappears.

“Louis, wait!”

They don’t have enough time to go after her, as the ride starts the very second, she makes it off the podium. They stare at each other with d’Artagnan.

That is because:

  * They are sitting in a pale green teacup.
  * Just the two of them.
  * One of them is clad in all black.
  * The other probably has socks made from denim.
  * (Bernardo does not want to think about the underwear, but it is too late now.)
  * They look ridiculous, and probably everyone is staring at them.



 

Bernardo places his hand on the metal plate ahead of him, on instinct. When he turns it a little, the teacup starts spinning in a different direction, too.

“This is difficult,” d’Artagnan says, and his face grows a little pale.

“What is?”

“The world is spinning with me.”

Bernardo rolls his eyes so hard, they are about to roll out of their sockets completely.

“Well, we are in spinning, pastel teacups,” he explains.

D’Artagnan puts his hands on the boy’s, which is just as frightening as unexpected. His palms are very warm, but his grip is strong.

“Can you stop doing that?” Only now Bernardo understands why he did that. His cheeks go slightly red.

“What? Are you feeling sick from a little twirling?”

He tries to spin it harder, just to spite the man.

“Bernard! Stop!”

“My name is Bernard **o**!” It feels like the entire Mad Tea Party ride heard his exclamation, so he clears his throat, and tries to blend into his surroundings. Which is, admittedly a little difficult when you are the only sad black cloud in the middle of a pastel-glitter tea party.

There is a moment of silence, while that daft d’Artagnan finally comprehends what the words mean. His hands are still on the boy’s, probably on accident.

“I always thought that was just your accent,” he explains himself.          

“I don’t have an accent!”                                                                                        

“You have. A slight one.”

Bernardo tries to flip the teacup on him, but it does not work. The little interlude makes d’Artagnan feel better for a whole minute, but as soon as they step off the ride, he needs someone (Bernardo) to lean on.

“I feel like I was on an ocean liner,” he complains. “I will pass out, or throw up, or both.”

 

***

 

As a punishment (for being sick) Mazarin takes away d’Artagnan’s fast pass. In fact, he does something even more deplorable: he also takes Bernardo’s one.

“You won this together, so you will lose it together, for equality’s sake,” he argues, and suddenly, Bernardo feels like the least favourite child. What does he mean they lose it together? “I will give this to Marie Louise and Louis. In the meanwhile, let’s go to the carousel, until d’Artagnan feels better.”

D’Artagnan’s face is still pretty pale. (Not pretty. Pale. It’s pale.) He follows them with uneasy steps, and Bernardo finds himself walking next to him, simply because he already got used to going along with the man. He heard before that there is a dragon under Cinderella’s castle… They really should go and have a look at _that_.

While he fantasizes about the dragon, Louis forces them to stop at the Disney shop, and have a look at all the goods. Sadly, she remembers the mouse ears. The Mazarinettes wear with pride, while Bernardo looks a little sheepish.

“Cute,” d’Artagnan says, as he arranges it on the top of his head, so his curls would not be in the way.

“Not cute. I am cold-hearted and inhuman.”

Everyone looks at him with sincere sympathy.

“Sure, Bern.”

On their way to the carousel, Montpensier wails for some candy apples, so Mazarin buys some for everyone, hoping that her lips would stick together from the thick glazing. By this time, Bernardo almost forgets about the stupid mouse ears he is forced to wear. He stares at d’Artagnan, whose colour starts returning along with the massive apple he holds in his hand. It is a deep vermillion colour, hurts his eyes a little.

“Ha, this apple is just like your cheeks,” he tells d’Artagnan, after he stared a little, at both.

“… what?”

“Fat and round.” A few moments of silence, before he would add. “Especially when you smile.”

D’Artagnan tilts his head, trying to make meaning out of the words. Thankfully, enough time passes with thinking, for them to arrive to the carousel, so the brainstorming needs to be postponed.

“Carrousel de Lancelot!” Montpensier reads, overjoyed. “When can we meet him?! When can we meet Lancelot?”

“I’m afraid he isn’t included in this ride anymore,” Mazarin thinks.

“Well. Then I don’t even need to get on! What’s the point!” She storms off with her toffee apple. “I’ll go, keep looking for the hot princes!”

D’Artagnan is still wasting his time in front of Bernardo in the line, unable to decide if he feels well enough to mount a horse. Bernardo stomps his feet impatiently.

“Do you want to go, or what?”

Bernardo chooses a black horse to sit on (of course) and d’Artagnan ends up hopping on the white one next to his. He still has the candy apple, so he wonders how funny he must look from the outside: mouse ears, candy apple, all black, proudly riding a plastic horse. With that thought, he looks over to d’Artagnan.

“Denim prince on a white horse.” It comes as an announcement. “Someone should tell Montpensier that she is looking for her princes in the wrong place.”

“Her _hot_ princes?”

“What?”

“What.”

He wants to throw his toffee apple at d’Artagnan, then thinks better about it. In fact, he looks around to see where Louis and his sisters ended up sitting, but they are not in their vicinity. Maybe they went to look for better horses on the other side of the carousel, Bernardo assumes. Except, he cannot spot them anywhere even after it is time to leave. He looks back, he looks left, right, nobody.

There is a huge mass of people, walking and running past them, but none of them are the people they arrived with. Only d’Artagnan stands next to him, similarly clueless.

“Did they forget about us?” Bernardo wonders. “Why do they always forget about _me_ …”

“Even though you make it hard,” d’Artagnan adds it under his breath, which is when he hits his face with the toffee apple, smearing the sticky caramel all over his face.

“Cheeky. Let’s look for the others before they leave us here for once and all.”

“You know, we can just explore the park on our own,” d’Artagnan suggests. “While we are looking for them, of course. But if you see a ride you want to hop on.”

“With you? So you can puke in my lap? Don’t want that ride, thank you.”

After a few minutes of walking in silence next to each other, he grabs into d’Artagnan’s sleeve as the place gets crowded when they walk towards a new area.

“What is it?”

“It would be a shame if we even lost each other. Do you mind?”

D’Artagnan doesn’t mind. As long as it is only the sleeve of his denim jacket, probably. Well, it is not like Bernardo would want to hold anything else! So, they are fine this way. He is staring at the paved road under them – not helping their case if they want to find his family any quicker. Then, as soon as he looks up he is taken by a delicious sight.

“Oh my!”

For one time, it is not d’Artagnan. It is instead a steep hill, on top of which there is a mansion, with boarded walls and oval windows that seem to be invitingly blinking at him, like pupilless eyes. D’Artagnan looks up too, then reads the signpost that leads up to the attraction.

“Phantom Manor.”                             

“ _Phantom Manor_.” He drags d’Artagnan by the sleeve. “Sounds goth. I want to go in.”

D’Artagnan looks up at the manor, and then back at Bernardo. He opens his mouth to say something – perhaps about the boy refusing to go with him before, but then he changes his mind – then, he closes it. As they climb upstairs, they seem to lose everyone around them.

“Is it even open?” d’Artagnan wonders.

“Why wouldn’t it be…”

When they pop their heads into the door after they crossed the empty queues, a staff member appears out of what it could be thin air, and welcomes them. Bernardo stifles a scream.

“Are you open?” d’Artagnan asks again, and the boy starts thinking that he wants to hear no as an answer.

“Why, yes we are. Come in, come in. You have to complete a walk through part, before you get to the ride. Feel free to explore.”

She nudges them towards the door which leads into the entrance hall, then, without further delay, slams it on them. The hall turns out to be an elevator, although Bernardo cannot tell at first whether they are travelling upwards or downwards. The walls stay in the same place, making the paintings on the wall flow downwards, and reveal slightly disturbing images underneath. D’Artagnan laughs.

“Ah, if it is only this scary, it isn’t really a Phantom Manor, is it.”                     

The lights go out the moment he says it, and the chandelier ejects lightning-like, icy blue trails ahead of them. It reduces the both of them to screams. D’Artagnan grabs after his hand and squeezes it, possibly to give himself grounding. The boy notices, but does not say a single word.

 

 **One** : they are warm.

 **Two** : he is scared, too.

 

“You peerless hero, you,” Bernardo bickers, then steps closer to him as the road ahead of them opens, revealing an empty hallway to walk across.

“I suppose there is no other way to get out of this manor, just by going forward,” the man says, instead of an answer.

He is still squeezing Bernardo’s hand, and the boy sure hopes he would not release it soon. The lights are flickering in the oil lamps around them on the walls, and apart from a few ever-changing paintings on the wall, there is nothing out of place at all. The floor creeks under his step once, suspiciously. The second time, the floor disappears under his foot, and he suddenly sinks ankle-deep in the scarlet rug under him.

“God _fucking_ damn it!” He punches d’Artagnan with his free hand. “Don’t laugh, it could have been you. It could have been you.”

“Let’s talk about something, so this is less unsettling.”

“Unsettling? You’re scared?”

D’Artagnan squeezes at his fingers even harder. Their shoulders touch as they walk.

“Not at all. I just thought… maybe…” Perhaps to mask his nervousness, he starts talking about his home in Gascony, and goes on about his father – for the first time Bernardo just decides to listen, because, after all, it is a lot less frightening to listen to what this stupid stinky man has to say than focusing on the haunted house in solitude.

When they get to the ride, there are no people in the queue, again, so they are shoved into the front car, only the two of them. Even as they enter the cart, d’Artagnan doesn’t let go of his hand for even a second.

“Spooky,” he whispers, as they drive into the darkness, and it comes so close to Bernardo’s ear, he can feel the man’s breath tickling his skin.

 

***

 

Once they get out of the Phantom Manor, the sudden light hurts their eyes. Bernardo drags his free hand against his eyes, trying to shade them from the brightness. D’Artagnan does the same, which is when they notice that they are still holding hands. As if he touched an open flame, Bernardo rips his hand out of the other’s and shakes it a few times to get even the memory of d’Artagnan off of him.

They look at each other, then clear their throats.

“Off we go.”

As they start walking, a bush next to Bernardo starts quivering, which has him reduced to another scream, then he seeks out d’Artagnan’s hand again, without doing as much as thinking about it. D’Artagnan looks mortified, too.

“Fuck this Phantom Manor! Haunted bushes!” Bernardo scoffs, and rubs his shoulder against the other’s. “Let’s get out of here right now.”

“What about you, though?” d’Artagnan asks, as they walk down the stairs, hand in hand.

“Hm?”

“I told you all about Gascony while we were inside the manor. What about you?”

“I’m not from Gascony,” Bernardo quickly says, unable to tell why he feels so flustered suddenly.

“I know. I meant… I want to know more about you. Bernard… _o_.”

It is very difficult to talk about yourself when people outright tell you they want to hear, he finds. Maybe it is because it seemed like d’Artagnan never cared enough about him before. Still, soon enough, Bernardo loosens his tongue, and goes on about his uncle at first, then about Louis, their childhood friendship, then about back home.

“So, you are only here for a few more weeks?” d’Artagnan surmises.

“Mmm. Maybe.”

“Too bad.” Bernardo makes a sound of confusion, which prompts the man to explain further. “You are quite lovely, you know.”

Even though they left the Phantom Manor a good fifteen minutes ago, the bushes quiver next to them again. Bernardo stomps with his feet (scared again) and realizes that the two of them are still casually holding hands.

“Oh my.”

They release each other, trying to ignore what has just happened. Bernardo stares at the tiles under them, while d’Artagnan looks into the Sun (probably trying to blind himself for once and all).

“Do you want to get on a ride?”

“Yeah, just let’s do something!” Bernardo quickly agrees, trying to annihilate the awkwardness, which could be cut between the two of them.

“Tower of Terror!” D’Artagnan exclaims, all excited again.

“Are you sure? Will your sensitive little stomach bear that?”

He speaks too early, though. Because Bernardo’s

                                                                                          Little

                                                                                          Heart

                                                                                          Made

                                                                                          Of

                                                                                          Stone

                                                                                          Fails

                                                                                          On

                                                                                          The

                                                                                          Course

                                                                                          Even

                                                                                          Before

                                                                                          They

                                                                                          Reach

                                                                                          The

                                                                                          Top

                                                                                          Of

                                                                                          The

                                                                           **TOWER OF TERROR**

He ends up clasping into d’Artagnan’s hand all the way through, as they scream into each other’s ears, as they fall free. (Again, he realizes that he wants to see a world where nobody is allowed to fall freely.) Even his mouse ears get lost somewhere along the way, and only d’Artagnan notices when they are about to leave the venue. He picks it up for Bernardo, and places it back in his hair. His legs are still shaking, and he is unsure if he can even make it to the exit.

When they are outside, he just collapses on the side of the pathway, and d’Artagnan follows him.

“You know what…” Bernardo suddenly thinks. “We are stupid. We could have just called Louis and asked where they went. Or my uncle.”

He takes his phone out, with shaky hands, and finds the girl’s contact number first. It could not be reached. Then, he tries for his siblings. One by one. They are all switched off. When he calls Montpensier, she also complains that the others left her behind – except he has no will to meet up with her, so he quickly hangs up on her instead. He tries Mazarin last.

It connects, but there is no answer.

“Can you hear that?” d’Artagnan asks, sharpening his ears.

Bernardo puts his phone down and turns his head a few times, then he hangs up on his uncle.

“No.”

“I thought there was a slight buzzing.”

He puts his hand on the man’s brows, in a patronizing manner.

“I think the Tower of Terror did it for you, Charles, and now your ears are ringing. You’re probably ill. Feverish.”

D’Artagnan stares at him. He stares back at d’Artagnan.

“ _Charles_?”

Bernardo lets out a panicked laugh and tries to scramble to save his own skin – for the hundredth time today, probably. Why does this happen to him all the time he opens his mouth?

“Isn’t that how you’re called?”

“Nobody even calls me Charles. Even I don’t call myself Charles.”

Tragic, he thinks, but he says nothing about it. Maybe he hates being called that. Which is the perfect reason to start referring to him by his personal name, exclusively.

D’Artagnan throws his head back and looks up at the sky. It was still a warm afternoon, barely into September. Then, he turns his head towards Bernardo, and makes a serious face. (Well, as serious as d’Artagnan can muster.)

“Are you planning to visit throughout the year, or do you ever only come back in the summertime?”

“What sort of question is that? All of a sudden?”

D’Artagnan jumps up, with faked enthusiasm.

“Trying to figure out how many times I get to see your lovely face before you disappear from the face of the Earth?” he claims, then offers his hand so Bernardo can stand, too. “Do you want to go back to the Phantom Manor?”

“I thought you got creeped out for once and all.”

“But do you?”

“Okay.”

The manor is still as empty as it was when they left it – and truth to be told, Bernardo feels some sort of a relief when he learns this. The lights out do not scare them anymore, and yet, even before the darkness would surprise them, d’Artagnan squeezes his hand in the elevator.

“Spooky,” he whispers in his ear, again.

They take the walk a lot slower than before, and d’Artagnan makes a sport out of going up very close to the paintings, examining them from every angle possible. This means, of course, that he takes Bernardo with him, too, since he is unable to let his hands go for even a second.

“It is not so bad for a second time,” d’Artagnan whispers. “Look! A creepy sofa!”

He dashes towards it, ready to sit down whenever.

“It is going to disappear the exact moment you sit down,” Bernardo warns him.

He is wrong, though. D’Artagnan slops down on it without any issues, then nudges the boy to follow suit. Their thighs touch, as the sofa is not as big as it first seemed. Maybe also because they did not want to sit that far apart, after all.

“What if we fell asleep on the couch of the Phantom Manor?” d’Artagnan asks. “Will the monsters eat us?”

“You want to take a nap in the haunted house?” Bernardo almost finds that endearing, but he catches himself in the right moment, before it would show on his face.

They sit there in silence for a while. It could be ten minutes, but it could also be an hour. Strangely enough, only three people walk past them in a group, getting tremendously scared of their dark figures sitting motionlessly in the shadows. After a while, Bernardo gets bored by that, and urges them to leave.

“It’s getting late,” he thinks, although it could still only be the early hours of the afternoon.

D’Artagnan darts after him immediately.

“You haven’t even answered my question, by the way,” he says. Bernardo raises his eyebrows.

“If you were planning to visit apart from summertime.”

He allows d’Artagnan to interlace their fingers, as he almost already got used to it.

“What is it to you?” He laughs, trying to get control of himself, but still ends up asking. “Do you have a crush on me, or something?”

D’Artagnan pulls on his hand a little, stopping him.

“Maybe I d…” he tries to say, almost seductively, as he attempts to pin Bernardo against the fake-stained, crumbling wall of the manor.

Bernardo expects to be slammed against the wall, and his heart already skips a beat because of that, except he somehow falls right through it, as it disappears behind his back. It all happens too quickly to be able to react properly: he falls on his back, hardly being able to prop himself up with his arms at all. What is worse, d’Artagnan falls straight on top of him.

They stare into each other’s eyes for long, silent moments, trying to adjust to the darkness, and to the brand-new room of the manor they had fallen into.

“There is … no wall here,” Bernardo observes, then he ends up giggling, finding the situation too hard to comprehend.

“Shhh. The monsters will hear you and you will get us killed.”

Bernardo cannot stop laughing, in fact, he only gets louder, since he cannot believe that d’Artagnan thinks for a second that this is _not_ part of the official Phantom Manor walk through. The only thing silencing him is d’Artagnan’s lips colliding with his, ending in a perhaps unexpected, but anticipated kiss.

 

***

Bernardo thinks that making out with the most annoying Gascon in a haunted house might be the most goth thing he has done in his life so far. He cannot even tell how long they spend in the Phantom Manor’s Phantom Room until a buzzing in his trousers stops them. Funnily enough, it is Montpensier.

“The others are starting to worry about you two. You went into that haunted house such a long time ago.”

“What…?”

“What.”

 He presses the phone to his chest and gives a look to d’Artagnan – who clearly does not understand what is going on, since he cannot hear the conversation over the phone.

“Are you even alive? Did the Hatbox Ghost eat you two? Am I talking to you from the other side?”

Bernardo hangs up.

“Uncle wants to see us,” he tells d’Artagnan, even though Montpensier did not say anything of the such.

They ignore the ride entirely and replace it by some (entirely not) stealthy kissing, since they are still the only ones in the manor. When they get out, his entire family, plus Louis and Montpensier are waiting at the entrance. Montpensier waves at them from a distance.

“There you are! We thought you were dead.”

“How did you know we were in here?” Bernardo asks, straight to the point.

Montpensier shrugs, nodding towards the others: she does not know, Bernardo should ask his family, instead. Some of the Mazarinettes look down on the ground. Louis is playing with her hair.

“We just spotted you when you entered the manor,” Mazarin explains, after some thinking. “You know Marie Louise and her nerves, so we thought it would be smarter if we waited until you came out yourselves.”

“You mean, we were afraid she would tear down the decoration, huh?” Louis adds, laughing nervously. “Well, it is all fixed now. You found us, we found you… time to go and have something to eat, no?”

“Actually…” Bernardo looks at d’Artagnan, and then back at his family. “We are good.”

“You are good?”

“We will occupy ourselves while you go and get a meal. Louis? Your bodyguard is mine for the afternoon. Even Philippe can handle taking care of you in Disneyland.”

D’Artagnan shoots a questioning look at him, but he does not protest, at all. The rest, apart from Montpensier seem to be agreeing to this set-out, without any further complaints. His family disappears, as quickly as they arrived, and soon enough it is only the two of them again.

“Let’s go back to the manor,” Bernardo suggests.

D’Artagnan, as an agreement, interlaces his fingers with the boy’s.

“So… you haven’t yet answered my question, even though I tried so many times. Will I ever see you again next year, or…?”

“Maybe _you_ can come to Rome,” Bernardo says, and it is not without wistfulness. “If you are so desperate.”

The bushes, once again, quiver, and swoon in agreement behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most niche thing, but Lancelot not being there anymore refers to J being transferred out of the troupe, yes.


End file.
